


Pas de Deux (Dance For Two)

by Lynda Sappington (HowNovel)



Series: The StarFamily Trilogy [1]
Category: Starman (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1988-04-10
Updated: 1988-04-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 18:44:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowNovel/pseuds/Lynda%20Sappington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series Summary: Paul, Jenny and Scott finally become a whole family. But will it last with Fox still on their trail?</p><p>Part 1. Jenny, Paul, and Scott find each other at last, for an all too brief summer interlude. Jenny leaves when Fox sees her rather than lead him back to her men.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pas de Deux (Dance For Two)

Pas de Deux  
("Dance for Two")  
A STARMAN Story  
by Lynda B. Sappington

Many thanks to Candi, Cheryl and Desertgal for their help, advice and friendship.

"Pas de Deux" is Part I of THE STAR FAMILY TRILOGY. Part II is "An Honest Woman", and Part III is "Fox's Quest".

Copyright April 1988 by Lynda B. Sappington. "Pas de Deux" is a non¬profit, amateur publication written for the enjoyment of STARMAN fans, and is not meant to infringe upon copyrights held by Henerson-Hirsch and Michael Douglas Productions, Columbia Pictures Television, or ABC-TV.

Material contained herein, may not be copied or reproduced without the express permission of the author.

Pas de Deux

("Dance for Two")

"I'll never get this right!" Laura exclaimed, throwing down her brush and stamping her foot in anger. "Never, never, never!" She shook her fist furiously at the half-painted canvas, then collapsed in defeat in the chair near her easel. "Oh, Paul, I just can't do it," she sighed as she put her face in her hands. Wisps of her newly-dyed auburn hair escaped the knot she'd made at the top of her head, haloing her face in russet. Her new brown contacts made her eyes a striking contrast to the creaminess of her skin. She'd always been lovely, though too thin from worry and unsettled living. Her new coloration was striking.

She looked around the room at the paintings leaning against the wall which were in various stages of work, but all fairly near completion. All of them were similar, yet each was quite different. She was doing impressionistic paintings of fantasy and science fiction landscapes and creatures which were in great demand for covers and illustrations for novels and stories. She was carefully putting money aside in bank accounts in different states, trying to build up some protection for the hard times that came all too often.

Some of her paintings were oils, some were pastels, many were air brushed, others more traditional. In each, however, there was the impression of a large, beautiful, human eye, obviously a man's from the shape of the lashes and eyebrow, either overlooking the scene, or, more often, the scene was reflected in the man's eye, which took up most of the canvas. Somehow, the viewer knew the painting was being seen as this man would see it. The eye was never obtrusive, but merely suggested. However, it was obviously the object given the most love and thought in each painting. The observer to whom this eye belonged seemed to see the images through a bluish haze, with all the harsh things softened, everything seen in a gentle, accepting way. The feeling of the paint-ings was one of great tranquility, no matter how eerie the scene being viewed.

The painting currently frustrating Laura was different than the rest. This one she was doing for herself, not for show or sale. She had tried many times to do this particular painting, but each attempt ended in heartbreaking frustration. It was a portrait of a handsome man with long dark hair falling over his forehead a little, combed back above his ears, and curling over the collar. He had a kind, gentle face, and big, wide-set, incredibly serene blue eyes filled with wisdom. Reflected in those eyes was the image of a woman and a boy. The portrait was painted with a great deal of love and care, but the eyes were never done to suit Laura, and, while the image of the woman was clear .enough, the boy seemed unformed somehow. She never could do Scott justice. Paul's eyes and Scott's face were the most important things she'd ever tried to paint, but they constantly defeated her. Her fleeting glimpse of Scott that one time had been so far away, and for such a brief instant. Her inability to capture his appearance broke her heart, but she tried it again and again.

Laura got up and made herself a cup of coffee, and turned on the TV to distract herself.

"Soap operas. Great. I'm LIVING a soap opera. I don't need to watch one!" she growled in exasperation, twisting the dial, looking for something more interesting to watch. She paused at the PBS station, which was broadcasting a ballet. She settled back to watch the graceful dancers as they spun out the beautiful story of ROMEO AND JULIET on the stage. The "pas de deux", or "dance for two", being performed was heartbreakingly romantic. The man and woman portraying Romeo and Juliet carried the viewers into the world of their love, so terribly intense, yet so gentle and sweet. Laura found herself spellbound, remembering her lost loves and the tenderness and warmth of the brief time she had with each of those she'd loved. She let her mind drift along as the dancers moved, so beautifully interpreting the music.

When the ballet ended, the camera panned the audience as they applauded. As it swept over the theatre, the television camera showed a photographer near the front, huddled down by the orchestra pit wall, with a tall boy next to him. Laura didn't notice them at first, then suddenly sat upright in her chair.

"Paul! Scott! Dear God, where is this happening? When was it filmed?" She frantically flipped through the television schedule book, then the telephone book. She called the station and found out when the ballet would be rebroadcast so she could look again and be sure. It had been so long since she'd seen them, and it had been for such a short time. The camera hadn't lingered on them. It might have been someone else, but her heart knew it was them.

"Oh, no. If I saw them, Fox could have too," she moaned. She stared at the TV for a moment, greatly agitated, then sighed. "At least they will probably be gone before Fox can get there," she rationalized, trying to calm herself. Suddenly, she was swept with despair. "Paul...Scott...Will we ever find each other?" She collapsed in tears by her small kitchen table, her head on her outstretched arms. Sobs racked her body until she was exhausted.

"Think, Jenny, and stop this idiotic crying!" she told herself angrily. She didn't often slip and use her real name anymore, but seeing Paul and Scott again, even for so brief a time, was a great shock to her. "Think! How do I find them? And how do I do it without letting Fox find us? There must be a way!"

She got up and paced the length of her living room over and over, muttering to herself as she thought of and discarded various approaches to the problem. She stopped by the kitchen counter, drumming her fingers on the edge impatiently, gazing sightlessly out the window as her brain spun in endless circles trying to find a clear answer. Finally, she put away her art supplies, cleaned herself up, changed out of her paint-spattered clothes, and left for the video store. She'd rent a VCR so she could tape the next performance and be certain it was them before she actively did anything about finding them.  
  
---  
  
The second showing of the ballet completed, Jenny Hayden, who was now calling herself Laura Jacobs, rewound the video tape to the spot she wanted to see. She was certain that brief glimpse really was of Paul and Scott, but she thought she could prove it by freezing the frame and looking more closely. She paused the tape, cursing the jiggly line across the middle of the screen which appeared when it was on "pause". Luckily, the line didn't obscure the faces of the man and boy before her.

Unheeded tears streamed down her face as she reached out a tentative hand and touched the images on the screen, first of the man, then the boy. Her gaze lingered on the boy's face. He had changed a lot since the time she had seen him in the Arizona desert. He was becoming a man, and she hadn't yet had time to know the boy. She got out her camera and took several photos of the image on the screen, praying they would come out clearly. She advanced the tape a frame or two at a time, taking more photos as she went, studying closely each expression on those well-loved faces.

"Please, dear Lord, let me have some time with Scott before he's grown. Please give me time to get to know him, and to know he's forgiven me and understands why I had to leave. Please, God," she prayed brokenheartedly. "Please let him know how much I love him and his father, and that I'd give anything to be with them again. Please make him understand." She'd prayed this prayer for Scott so often over the years before the Starman's return, and now her desire for the Starman she loved added its weight to her petitions to heaven. "But, dear Father, keeping them safe is more important than my being with them. Please keep them safe, Father. Don't let Fox see this show and be able to find them again. Keep them safe." She jumped a little as the VCR took itself off of "pause" and ran the tape at normal speed. She shut off the machine and removed the tape, breaking the clip on the back so she wouldn't erase the tape by mistake.

Jenny got up and called her agent, Molly Davis, in New York. She told Molly she would soon be leaving to travel around the country for a while, looking for ideas for some illustrations she was commissioned to do. The paintings around her walls each only needed a few finishing touches, but recently, with no deadlines near, she'd only worked at them sporadically while she fought with the painting of her family. If she kept at it, all the commissioned work could be finished in a few days and sent off to the agent for delivery. Then she would have plenty of money for some time to come, and a free enough schedule to trek across the country searching for her family. She could put the rest of her possessions in storage until she was able to return for them.  
  
---  
  
"Hey, George," Mike Cantrell said. "Have you got a minute?"

"What is it?" Fox growled. He'd never liked the other FSA agent. Cantrell was tall, dark, handsome and very successful in the department. Everything the man did irritated Fox.

"I have a video tape I thought you'd be interested in," Cantrell answered.

"What's on it?"

"A ballet. You'll love it!" Cantrell grinned maliciously.

Fox groaned. "Cantrell, you know I'm busy. Why would I want to watch a ballet, of all things?"

"I think you'll find this one interesting, George," Cantrell smiled as he started the VCR. He'd set it to begin just before the camera panned the audience.

"What do you see, George?"

"Some ballerinas, some guys in tights, and an audience. What did you expect me to...Forrester!" Fox leaped out of his chair as the image of Paul and Scott flitted across the screen ever so briefly.

"I'll run that back for you, George. I thought you'd like that part!" Cantrell laughed. They watched the scene over a couple of times, then Fox noted where the ballet had been produced and the names of the people in the credits he knew to be the ones he'd need to contact.

"I owe you, Mike," Fox said earnestly as he gathered things hurriedly off his desk, cramming papers roughly into his, briefcase.

"I'll remind you, George," Cantrell said smugly as he left.

"Wylie!" Fox called as he rushed out of his office. "Wylie! Where is that idiot? Wylie!"

Wylie materialized by Fox's elbow. "Yes, sir?"

Fox jumped in surprise. "Don't do that, Wylie!"

"Do what, sir?"

"Never mind. Call this number and find out where the head office is located, and get our tickets arranged. I want to leave on the next flight."

"Tickets, sir?" the ponderous-minded Wylie asked, bewildered.

"Forrester has surfaced again! Now move, Wylie!"

"Yes, sir," Wylie answered unhappily. Traveling with Fox was among his least favorite things to do.  
  
---  
  
"Boy, I always thought men ballet dancers must be wimps, but these guys are BAD!" Scott said with amazement in his voice.

"What? What do you mean, 'bad'? I thought they were very good," Paul responded in surprise as he repacked his camera bag.

"Dad, you know 'bad' means 'good' now," Scott explained with a grin.

"If 'bad' means 'good' now, how do you know if someone thinks something really is 'bad'?" Paul asked with genuine curiosity. The language of humans was endlessly complicated and endlessly fascinating. He didn't think he'd ever truly understand it completely.

Scott laughed. "I don't know. I guess if something really is 'bad', you'd have to say it was 'gross' or something."

"But, Scott, I read in the dictionary that 'gross' is twelve dozen of something, or it means 'big', or it's the total of your income before deductions, or..."

"Okay, okay! I guess slang is just indefinable or something. I can see I should've never suggested you look things up you didn't understand."

"You see, you aren't the only one who does his homework," Paul replied with a proud grin. He finished stowing his camera equipment in his bag and zipped it shut with a flourish. "So, you enjoyed the ballet, eh, Scott? Would you want to do that sometime?"

"Uh, no, I, uh, that is, uh,..." Scott stumbled along, trying to figure out how to explain to his father that he wouldn't want to be caught dead in tights without getting into even more complicated explanations.

Paul laughed at the look of consternation on Scott's face. "That's okay, I don't think you'd have time for the lessons anyway."

"Yeah, well... I wouldn't mind carrying those pretty ladies around like that, though!" Scott responded with a grin.

"Yeah," Paul agreed. He suddenly began the funny walk, wiggling eyebrows and leering grin he'd seen Grocho Marx do on an old movie recently. "I just might like that, too!" He smiled as Scott burst out in gales of laughter.

"Is that funny?" he asked, straightening up.

"Yes, that's hilarious. You're getting good at impressions, Dad," Scott laughed. "I can just see you, a lady draped over your shoulder kicking and screaming, and you sort of stomping out all bent over with your eyebrows going up and down and that dirty Groucho grin. What a sight!" He held his sides as he rolled around on the sofa laughing at the image he'd conjured up.

Paul stood with his hands on his hips, a broad grin on his face as he watched his son in paroxysms of glee. Scott was at the age where his moods shifted swiftly and suddenly, and a fit of laughter could last quite a while or be over within seconds.

"Oh, oh, it hurts," Scott groaned, his arms tight around his middle.

"What hurts?" Paul asked in alarm, bending over his son.

"My sides hurt from laughing so much!" Scott exclaimed. "I'm okay, don't worry. I've just laughed myself sick, that's all. I'll be okay." He was still chuckling even while he groaned.

Paul stood scratching his head in thought for a moment, then smiled as he sat down by his son.

"Poor Scott. You've had a hard day, haven't you, son? Why don't you relax?" Paul said solicitously as he plumped up the sofa pillows behind Scott. Suddenly, he started tickling his son, making him shout with laughter. Scott tried to get him back, but Paul was too quick for him. These unexpected times of play were all too few in their lives, and they relished them when they came. They collapsed in a laughing, tangled heap on the floor.

"You know, of course, this could get us evicted, don't you?" Scott said as he tried to catch his breath.

"Why?" Paul asked innocently as he lay beside his son, also trying to breathe normally again.

"Because of the noise!"

"Then I guess it's a good thing we were leaving anyway, isn't it?" Paul responded with a smile.

"Yep," Scott agreed.  
  
---  
  
That evening, Paul and Scott stopped by to pick up Paul's pay from the editor of the magazine who had commissioned the photos of the ballet.

"The photos you took are extraordinary, Paul," Mr. Zingrelli exclaimed, holding the finished pictures in his hand. "Just beautiful! They'll dress up our interviews with the lead dancers marvelously. That's quite a story in itself, with them both defecting from Russia so recently. These photos, especially the ones you took of them backstage and at their home, illustrate the article Jimmy wrote about them very well." He laid the photos down and handed Paul an envelope. "Outstanding job, Paul. You'll find a bonus in your paycheck. I've never worked with a more cooperative photographer, or a more talented one. You let me know if you ever want to settle down and work for one publication, you hear? I'll pay you whatever it takes to keep you." He shook Paul's hand warmly.

"Thank you, Mr. Zingrelli, I'm honored by your offer. Some day Scott and I will probably want to settle down, and I may take you up on that job. Thanks for the bonus, too, I really appreciate it. I'm glad you like the pictures. It was an interesting story to illustrate."

"What's your next assignment, Paul?" Mr. Zingrelli asked.

"I don't know yet. I've heard I need to head west, but my agent hasn't told me the details."

"Well, good luck to you both, and remember my offer," Mr. Zingrelli said, shaking hands warmly with each of them again. "Have a safe trip, wherever you're heading. Keep in touch!"

"Thank you, sir, we'll do that," Paul said with a friendly smile as he and Scott turned to leave the office.  
  
---  
  
"Yes, Ma'am, Paul Forrester worked for us," Mr. Zingrelli's receptionist told Jenny. "He's gone on to another job. That was several weeks ago, though."

Jenny sighed in frustration. She hadn't been on his trail long, but it seemed like years. The receptionist was a kindly older lady who noticed Jenny's obvious distress at not being able to find Paul.

"Why do you want to contact him, dear? Do you have a job for him?"

"Why, yes, I do," Jenny replied hurriedly. "Do you know how I could contact his agent or someone else who might be in touch with him?"

"Certainly. I'm actually not supposed to give this out, but I know he was looking for a job to do after this one he was going on, so maybe you're the person he's looking for," the receptionist said pleasantly.

"I believe I'm just the person he's looking for," Jenny replied with a smile. "I know he's the person I want for this job." Jenny had told the receptionist about her work as an artist, and that she had wanted Paul to take some photos with certain special lighting for her to use as a basis for some illustrations. The receptionist thought artists were fascinating, and wanted to be as helpful as possible.

"Here it is. Liz Baynes. She has a Chicago number listed." The receptionist rattled off the phone number as Jenny wrote it down. In her brief time with Paul, he hadn't mentioned Liz, but she knew that he had to have someone helping him get jobs at times. She wondered how she could check Liz out without causing trouble. She didn't want to fall into one of Fox's traps by mistake.

"You know, dear, there was this funny little man in here asking about that nice Mr. Forrester too, but I wouldn't tell him anything. He seemed like he was up to no good," the receptionist confided.

Jenny felt cold inside. It had to be Fox. "Did he find out anything?"

"To tell you the truth, sweetie, he showed me a badge and claimed to work for the government, but I didn't think our government would give that important a job to someone who was so...I don't know how to describe it. He was just crackling with nerves, you know? I thought he was going to explode when 1 wouldn't tell him anything. His assistant seemed like a nice enough fellow. If he'd come alone, I might have told him something, but I just didn't like that little man. He made me nervous!"

"I'm sure you did the right thing. From what I know of Mr. Forrester, he would probably rather not meet anyone like that man. I appreciate your protecting him, and I'm sure he would too," Jenny said with heartfelt gratitude.

The receptionist smiled warmly up at Jenny. "Mr. Forrester seems like such a nice man, I'm sure he couldn't really be in any trouble with the government. You know, since that man shot John Lennon, I'm very wary of people trying to contact any stars or well-known people who pass through this office. If they seem the least bit cracked, I won't tell them anything."

"Good for you!" Jenny responded. "These famous people sometimes need protection from their fans. It's a shame, but it's true all too often. Thank you so much for your help, and thank you again for protecting Mr. Forrester. Keep up the good work!"

"I will, sweetie. Good luck at contacting him."

"Thanks," Jenny answered, waving to the genial receptionist as she left the office. Jenny was so relieved that the woman had had the urge to protect Paul. She knew Fox would be thrown off the trail for at least a little while. She hoped it would be long enough for her to find her family.  
  
---  
  
"Wayne? Wayne, it's Jenny," she said in a rush. "I've got to hurry so they can't trace the call."

"Jenny? How are you? Are you alone, or have you found each other?" her brother, Wayne Geffner, asked excitedly. His wife, Phyllis, hurried to his side and touched his arm.

"Is that Jenny? Is she okay?" she asked. He made a shushing gesture toward her and nodded to her, yes, it's Jenny.

"Wayne, I'm fine. I'm alone, but I think I can find them. I need to know if Liz Baynes is on their side or against them. Do you know?"

"Yes, honey, she's a friend. She's okay. Why?"

"I've been told to contact her to find them. I can't explain now. You're sure she's a friend?"

"Yes, Jenny, she is."

"Does Fox know about her?"

"Yes, he does, and he keeps tabs on her, but she's smart. She knows how to handle things."

"Do you think it's safe for me to call her?"

"Paul told me if I ever needed to get in touch with him to let her know and she'd arrange it. You call her. She'll fix things up."

"Oh, Wayne, wouldn't it be wonderful... I've got to get off here before they find me. I love you, Wayne. Give my love to Phyllis."

"Take care. Let me know if you need..." Wayne stopped, realizing he was talking to a dead phone. "She hung up, I guess. She sends her love, Phyl. I hope she's okay." He turned and hugged his wife, enjoying the closeness they shared, hoping his sister would someday have peace in her life so she could enjoy such closeness with her family. He kissed the top of Phyllis' head and thanked God they weren't in Jenny and Paul's position.  
  
---  
  
"Hello, is this Liz Baynes?" a feminine voice asked.

"Yes, this is Liz Baynes. With whom am I speaking?"

"My name is Laura Jacobs. I've been told you act as an agent for the photographer, Paul Forrester. I need to contact him about a job I'd like him to do."

Liz, cautious by nature where Paul was concerned, sensed an oddness about this caller but she couldn't put her finger on it. The lady seemed nervous about something. Liz decided to be extremely careful with this woman.

"I don't often hear from Paul, actually. When I do, if I know of something he's suited for, I'll send a job his way. He rarely contacts me, though. What kind of job is it?"

Jenny tried hard to keep the disappointment from her voice. Liz rarely heard from Paul? How could she find him if his agent didn't know where he was? She hoped fervently that the contact with Liz wouldn't endanger her or Paul or Scott.

"I'm an artist, and do illustrations and covers for books. I have something in mind I'd like photographed, so I could use it as a background for a series of illustrations, but the photography involved is a lot more than I can handle myself. I've seen Paul Forrester's work, and he gets a certain feeling in his photos which is very much the kind of tone I'm trying to get in these illustrations. I thought he'd be the best for the job. Do you think you could get in touch with him for me?"

Jenny hoped she didn't sound too inane. She just couldn't think of any other way to approach Liz Baynes. She was afraid to reveal herself, despite Wayne's reassurances about Liz' loyalty to Paul.

"Where are you calling from, Ms. Jacobs?" Liz asked. "Who are you doing these illustrations for? Can you tell me something about the subject matter? I'll need to know, so I can tell Paul if I do hear from him." Liz had decided to probe this situation a little more deeply.

"I'm doing them for a fantasy novel published by FlexPress Limited. They should be some studies of teenaged boys, some of old people, and some of rugged country, like the Badlands of South Dakota. This isn't the first book I've illustrated for this author, and the others are on similar subjects, so I need a fresh perspective. I was hoping he could do some very sensitive pictures of these things, and others I would talk to him about, if we could work out an arrangement." The commission she was telling Liz about was a real one. She thought it the best possible way to get Paul professionally involved.

"Well, I don't know. That isn't the kind of thing Paul usually does..." Liz began.

"Tell him the teenager studies could be of his son," Jenny said in an impulsive rush which she immediately regretted.

"What makes you think he has a son?" Liz asked quickly, instantly suspicious. Only people who had met Paul knew about Scott.

Jenny nearly hung up. She had completely blown it. Now what?

"Well?" Liz grew more wary. The woman had been quiet too long. "Ms. Jacobs, why do you think he has a son?" Liz demanded. "Could you be thinking of a different photographer?" She hadn't been sure how to take this woman's attitude. Her knowing about Scott worried Liz. Could this Laura Jacobs be working for Fox?

"Ms. Baynes, I guess calling you was a mistake. I just didn't know what else to do," Jenny said in despair.

"What's wrong, Ms. Jacobs? You don't sound right."

"I..." Jenny hesitated. Wayne had said this woman was a friend of Paul and Scott's. She had been protecting him. Maybe Jenny should just trust her. She hadn't trusted anyone in so long, it was difficult to do so now, but she had to find her family.

"Ms. Jacobs? Are you there?" Liz asked.

"Ms. Baynes, Wayne Geffner told me you are a friend of Paul's. Is that right?"

Liz was getting more and more suspicious of this caller. "Yes, of course I'm his friend as well as his agent. Why? How do you know Wayne Geffner?"

Jenny was twisting the telephone wire nervously, and realized she was going to pull it out of the wall if she didn't let it go. She forced herself to be calm. "Ms. Baynes, do you know about Scott?"

"Scott who?" Liz asked carefully.

"Scott Hayden. Paul's son."

"What about him, Ms. Jacobs?"

"He's my son. I'm Jenny Hayden." What had she done? What if Wayne was wrong about Liz Baynes being a friend? Jenny trembled in fear for her safety and that of her family.

There was silence on both ends of the line. Liz felt a shock she wouldn't have believed, that Jenny Hayden, who Paul and Scott had traveled everywhere to find, had called her out of the blue.

"Ms. Baynes?"

"Yes, Jenny, I'm here."

"Do you believe me?"

"I'm not sure. I do know we can't talk about this on the phone. Are you in Chicago?"

"Yes."

"Go to the Wrigley Building as soon as you can, and stop at the newspaper vendor's stall. I'll meet you there and take you to a safe place where we can talk."

"How will I know you?"

"I'll be watching for you. I know what you look like, and I'll show you something that will identify me to you when we meet. I know you're scared, but I'll take good care of you. Okay?"

"I guess that's okay."

"Be careful."

"I always am. Thanks, Ms. Baynes. Wayne said you were a friend."

"That's okay, I owe a certain guy a lot. See you soon. Bye."

"Bye."

Liz held the dead phone at arm's length, staring at it in disbelief. What an incredible thing to happen! If only she knew how to get in touch with Paul. He should be checking in with her within the week. She hoped she could keep Jenny safe from Fox until she could get her together with Paul. Liz smiled to her-self, thinking of the joy she knew to expect in Paul's voice when she told him she'd talked with Jenny. Scott would probably whoop all the way to Chicago, if they wound up coming there to meet Jenny. It would be good to see them again. No, maybe she'd better not tell them about Jenny on the phone, or try to see them herself. She knew she was still often watched by the FSA. She kept a check on her phone to try to discover wiretaps, but she knew it was possible they'd traced her call. The most dangerous thing for her and Jenny both would be the meeting at the Wrigley Building. Liz had made several "just in case" plans for situations like this, where a meeting with Paul and Scott, or even Jenny, had to be quickly and safely arranged. She set one of them in motion, then dashed out the door to meet Jenny.  
  
---  
  
"Liz? How are you? It's Paul."

"Paul! Where have you been? I've been so anxious to hear from you!"

"Why? What's the matter?" he asked with concern.

"I.... Oh, I have to be careful. Paul, please trust me, just head this way as quickly as you can. I need you near Chicago."

"Why, Liz? What's the matter?"

"Paul, trust me, I can't tell you on the phone, but you'll be glad when you've done what I asked. Just come this way, and as fast as possible, okay?"

Paul was totally mystified. "Okay, Liz. We'll head east. Are you sending us some money?"

"Oh, what a dope I am! I can send you tickets, how's that? Tell me what airport to send them to, and they'll be waiting for you. If you have trouble getting there or anything, call me and I'll have it changed to suit you. It'll be paid for, no matter what."

Paul gave the name of the next big town, which was a couple of days' walk away from where he and Scott were then, and told Liz they'd be there as soon as they could.  
  
---  
  
"Why does she want us to come east? I don't understand," Scott asked.

"I don't either, but she wouldn't say any more than that. I don't know what's going on. I just know we can trust Liz Baynes, so we'll do as she asked. Come on, it's not much further to town, then we can fly to the Midwest! I know you like to fly."

"Yeah, it sure beats walking!" Scott agreed.  
  
---  
  
"Dayton, Ohio? Why would we want to go to Dayton, Ohio? Why would anyone want to go to Dayton, Ohio? Besides, that's not near Chicago!" Scott protested as they settled into their seats on the airplane, staring at his ticket in disbelief.

"I don't know, unless there was a change in plans at her end. She didn't send a message with the tickets or anything. I don't understand it. At least Dayton is a big enough town we should be able to blend in and keep a low profile. The ticket agent said Dayton is only a short flight from Chicago, or only a few hours by car, so it's sort of near Chicago, wouldn't you say?"

"Not really. Dayton, Ohio. Yuck. Hicksville, USA."

"Have you ever been there?"

"No, but I've never heard that Dayton was an exciting town at all. Now, Cincinnati, that's different. The Reds, the Bengals...."

"What are those, Scott?"

"Professional baseball and football teams. Sometimes I forget that you don't understand our passion for chasing balls around a field. Never mind. We're not going to Cincinnati anyway. Dayton!" he said with a disgusted sniff.  
  
---  
  
Jenny Hayden was wringing her hands nervously as she paced back and forth in her hotel room. Liz had left her there while she went to the airport to get Paul and Scott. Liz hadn't told them why she had wanted them to come to the Midwest, but they had trusted her enough to come anyway.  
  
---  
  
Liz had been very careful of the arrangements she'd made for Jenny, Paul and Scott, trying her best to protect them, but she worried that she might have overlooked something. As she drove her car into the airport parking lot, her eyes scanned the people coming and going around the terminal.

"No sign of any G-men that I can see," she sighed in relief.

At the gate, she waited impatiently to see Paul and Scott emerge from the airplane. She nervously looked around, hoping her complicated plans had thwarted any pursuit by Fox and his men. Suddenly, she saw Paul and Scott framed in the doorway, looking around for a familiar face.

"Paul! Over here!" she cried, eagerly running to meet them. Every time she saw him her heart leaped, recalling the love she'd had for the first Paul Forrester, and knowing how much more deserving of love this Paul Forrester was. She regretted the fact that the love he had wasn't for her. She knew she'd always love him, but that his heart belonged to Jenny.

"Liz! It's so good to see you!" Paul exclaimed, opening his arms to hug her.

"You look terrific, Paul, as usual," Liz said after kissing him hello. "Scott, you must be a foot taller than you were the last time I saw you! I know kids hate to hear that, but it's true. You're almost as tall as your dad!" Liz couldn't get over the change in Scott. From a sullen, insecure, defiant teenager, he had blossomed into a handsome young man with an air of maturity and dependability about him. He was going to be quite a man, Liz thought.

"Why did you want us to come to Dayton, Liz?" Paul asked as they headed to the parking lot past the construction which threatened to overwhelm the airport terminal.

"I can't tell you here, Paul. Just trust me a little longer, okay?" Liz smiled to herself. This was going to work out really well, she hoped.

"Okay," Paul answered, agreeable as always. Liz asked Paul and Scott many questions about their trip and their previous travels as she threaded the car through the traffic to the hotel.  
  
---  
  
"Here you go," Liz said as she unlocked the door to the hotel room and stood back to let them precede her. Paul looked at her in confusion, then shrugged as he went through the doorway. He stopped just inside the room, so quickly that Scott bumped into him.

"Excuse me, we must have the wrong...." Paul began, then stopped as he looked closer.

"Dad, what's..." Scott began. He looked past his dad and said, "Ooops, wrong room," then glanced over his shoulder at Liz. He was startled by her Cheshire cat grin, then his head snapped around to look again at the auburn-haired woman before them. Paul had already taken a couple of hesitant steps toward her.

"Jenny?" he asked softly. "Is that you?"

She reached out a trembling hand to him as the tears overflowed her eyes. As soon as he touched her hand, he knew.

"Jenny!" he cried, taking her quickly in his arms, holding her tightly to him. "Jenny," he said softly as he kissed her hair, then turned her face up to him. He looked deeply into her eyes, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"What happened to your eyes? I thought they were blue," he said, obviously perplexed.

Jenny laughed. "Brown contact lenses, Paul, and I dyed my hair so I would look different enough to confuse Fox."

"You look different enough to confuse me!" he exclaimed with a laugh. He kissed her and held her to him for a moment, then turned to Scott, who hadn't moved since he'd turned to stare at the woman his father was holding so tenderly in his arms.

"Scott... Come meet your mother, son," Paul invited with a gentle smile. Scott looked bewildered, and jumped as the door closed behind him. Liz had left the family alone to get reacquainted. He studied the woman before him in confusion.

"Mom?" he asked, looking from Jenny to his dad. "Dad, is she really Mom?"

"Yes, Scott, she is," Paul chuckled as he reached one arm out to his son. "Come here." Scott made his way slowly the few steps across to his parents, eyes wide in disbelief. Jenny let go of Paul and opened her arms hesitantly to Scott.

"Scotty?" she began. "Scotty, I love you. It's been so long. Can you forgive me?" All the times she'd rehearsed this scene in her mind, so many times, over and over, and now she was unable to say any of the things she'd so desperately wanted to say. Jenny found she didn't know how to explain, or what it was she'd wanted to tell him.

Scott stopped in front of her, staring at her in wonder, trying to understand, not knowing what to say or do. "Scott?" Jenny said again.

Suddenly, he rushed into her embrace, folding his long arms around her, bending his tall frame down so his head was on her shoulder, his face pressed against her neck as he had when he was a little child. The scent of her triggered a flood of memories, and he began to cry, great racking sobs that shook his body.

Jenny crooned to him and stroked his hair, as she had so often all those years ago when he would come to her with a skinned knee or a pinched finger. How she wished she could "kiss it and make it well" for him now. She knew the hurt ran too deeply for anything so simple to resolve.

Paul watched the reunion of mother and child with tears in his eyes, an overwhelming gratitude to Liz Baynes filling his heart. He wrapped his arms tenderly around the two people he loved most in the universe. When he touched them, he felt the years of anguish inside them being released, and the wounds of long separation beginning to heal. He sent peaceful, comforting feelings into them, and sensed the beginnings of the warmth of love and security. He finally felt they were a family.  
  
---  
  
"I think you'll be safe here for a while," Liz was saying as she handed Paul the keys to a small house in the country outside of Dayton. "I wouldn't try to get any work around here. Just enjoy a well-deserved vacation, get to know each other, and see how things work out. You and Jenny both have enough savings to live on for a little while. When a job comes up for you, we'll figure out what to do then."

"Liz, thank you for everything..." Paul began. Liz put her hand on his lips, hushing him.

"Paul, if ever any people deserved some peace on this earth, it's you three. Don't thank me, just enjoy. I'll be in touch. Bye, Jenny, Scott! You three take care of each other, okay?"

"Bye, Liz," they called from the doorway, their arms around each other.

They had been together for just a few days when Liz found the house for them. It was secluded, set back from the road at the end of a long lane behind an orchard, with no neighbors nearby. It was a perfect place for them to enjoy the privacy they needed to get to know each other better.  
  
---  
  
The days passed quickly that summer in the pleasant little cottage. Paul and Jenny's love blossomed and grew, strong, deep and sure. Paul felt his heart swelling with joy and devotion as he watched Jenny and Scott developing a strong, loving relationship. Paul had told Jenny that Scott liked to draw too. He watched the art lessons she gave Scott with great interest, sharing her delight in Scott's rapid progress. Paul found that Scott was also learning how to use his sphere more quickly now that he was truly happy.

Scott felt an incredible peace and security having both of his parents with him, loving and being loved by them, being part of his natural, complete family for the first time in his life. He finally felt whole.

There were few disagreements about anything among them. They were careful of their money and of how often they left their home, but while they were home they enjoyed the pleasures of living as a normal family.  
  
---  
  
One evening after they'd been in their house a few days, Paul, Jenny and Scott were enjoying another of Jenny's homecooked meals.

"You're such a good cook, Mom," Scott said around a mouthful of food. "This stuff is outstanding!"

Jenny laughed. "That's just macaroni and cheese, Scott, it's simple to make. I'm not that great a cook."

"Yes, you are. We always used those boxed mixes and they never tasted like this," Scott grinned.

Paul nodded his head in agreement, his mouth too full to do more than mumble. His eyes crinkled as he smiled at his family enjoying their meal together.

Jenny looked from one of her men to the other in amusement. "Well, what in the world do you expect from a boxed mix! Scratch stuff is always better. You follow the basic recipe, then just add a little extra cheese, a few spices..."

"Mom, we just did the best we could. I can see now our best wasn't too great!" Scott smiled.

"Don't let him fool you, Jenny, he can cook too," Paul said.

"Yeah, right, hamburgers, fried eggs, popcorn. Yuck." He turned to his mother. "Dad makes a mean meatloaf, though. It's so mean..."

"Scott," Paul began, "don't be mean about my meatloaf!"

Jenny and Scott laughed at the unusually grim face Paul was making at Scott.

"Who taught you to cook, Scott?" Jenny asked.

"I knew a boy named Ross at the orphanage who was a terrific cook. He was fantastic at omelets, and he tried to teach me how to make them, as well as hamburgers, pizza, and other stuff. I still can't do omelets right. Mine always fall apart when I try to turn them over," Scott said.

"Yeah, they're kinda leathery too!" Paul teased.

"I'll leave you alone about your meatloaf if you'll leave me alone about my omelets, Dad," Scott replied.

"Okay," Paul said in his usual, agreeable fashion.

"Come on, guys, help me with the dishes, and I'll show you how to make a lemon meringue pie. Would you like that? Or do you like chocolate better?" Jenny asked.

"Mmmmm! Both!" Scott said, licking his lips in anticipation.

Jenny set Scott to work rolling out the pie crust while she and Paul got the dishes done.

"Not so hard, Scotty, you want the crust to be an even thickness, and round, not all stretched out with holes in it. Be gentle with it, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed.

Jenny soon had both a chocolate and a lemon pie ready for meringue, with a lot of "help" from Paul and Scott. She laughed and handed each of them a bowl to lick.

"Why don't you just rest a while, guys, and I'll get the meringues made. Meringue is tricky. If you don't do it right the first time, it doesn't give you a second chance!"

"Is there any way we can help?" Paul asked while licking the chocolate pudding from the spoon in his hand. He'd gotten chocolate all around his mouth, like a little child.

When Jenny saw Paul's wide-eyed look while he offered his help, her heart turned over inside her. Had she ever loved anyone as much as she did him? Every day, every hour she found something else endearing about him, until she thought she'd burst from being so full of wonderful, warm feelings for this charming, darling man. He was such a special man, gentle, warm, funny and affectionate. She was so thankful, and still so amazed that he loved her, and that they'd managed to find each other. She reached out with a towel and wiped the chocolate from his mouth, then bopped him playfully on the nose with it.

"You can separate the eggs for me, if you want, Paul. I'll show you how. Scott, you measure out the sugar for me, then you can help your dad. It'll take a lot of eggs for two meringues."

Although Paul quickly learned how to separate eggs, Scott went through a lot of eggs before he got the hang of separating them correctly.

Jenny laughed at the serious expressions on their faces as they struggled to do the job right. She began adding the sugar to the egg whites as she beat them, getting more and more amused at the avid way Paul and Scott were watching her work.

Paul's eyes widened as the meringue puffed up fluffier and fluffier. "How did all that come from the little that was in there?" he wondered.

"From beating air into it," Jenny explained.

"Amazing," Paul murmured, watching in fascination.

"I have to keep beating it until it becomes shiny. It'll get really pretty. Watch and tell me when you see the shine." She felt as if she had two little boys in the kitchen hoping for handouts. Paul and Scott's fascinated attitude toward her home-making efforts was making up in part for the years she had missed with them.

After she finished making the meringue, Jenny handed each of her guys a beater to lick. She enjoyed the delight on their faces as they savored the delicate sweetness of the meringue.

"Mom, can I have some more? Just a little? Please?" Scott begged.

"Scott, you haven't changed a bit," Jenny laughed as she handed him a spoon full of meringue.

"What do you mean?" he asked, innocence written all over his face.

"When I'd make lemon meringue pies when you were tiny, you ate almost the entire bowl of meringue before I could get it on the pie! Every time I'd get another spoonful to put on, your little hand was in there, grabbing big handfuls of meringue. I would finally have to make another meringue to finish the pie!" she said with a smile.

Scott looked at his mother with wide-eyed innocence. "Could you make another meringue today, Mom?" he asked as he sneaked his hand toward the bowl.

"Scotty!" Jenny laughed, gently smacking his hand.

"Yes, could you make another one?" Paul asked with an equally wide-eyed, hopeful look on his face. "This is as good as Dutch apple pie," he continued with a smile.

"You guys are impossible!" she chuckled, dividing the meringue and giving Paul and Scott each a bowl for himself. She got out more eggs, and prepared to make another meringue.

Paul and Scott looked at each other over their meringue-covered spoons. Paul winked broadly at Scott and they smiled at each other conspiratorially.

"Mom, how many eggs do you have left?" Scott asked sweetly.

"A couple of dozen. I loaded up at the store so they'd last a while. Why?"

"Oh...just wondered how many meringues you could make in a day," he replied.

"Oh, so you want to keep me chained to the stove, huh?"

Paul and Scott looked at each other, mischief in their eyes. Paul reached out and pulled Jenny on his lap.

"No, Jenny, if you were chained to the stove, you couldn't do our laundry, or clean the house, or..." he teased, then put a dollop of meringue on her nose. They wrestled and tickled each other, laughter filling the kitchen.  
  
---  
  
A few weeks after "the meringue incident", as it came to be called, Scott was reading an article in the Sunday paper. "Hey, Dad," he called out, "the Air Force Museum looks like a neat place. Could we go there sometime, or do you think it would be dangerous?"

"Why do you think it looks neat, Scott? What do they have there?"

"They have Gemini and Apollo space capsules, all kinds of planes, even old experimental ones like the X-l, satellites, all kinds of neat stuff. Since you're a pilot yourself, you'd probably get a kick out of it!"

"I might at that, Scott. Why do you think it might be dangerous, though?"

"Because it belongs to the Government. Somehow, Fox might find out we'd been there."

"We've done all right here so far. If we just act like tourists, we'll probably be safe, don't you think?"

"Maybe," Scott replied doubtfully.

Paul looked sharply at his son. Scott had been so happy here, Paul didn't want anything to damage that feeling. He wanted them to be able to live as normal a life as possible. He didn't want Scott to feel their home was a prison because they were too afraid of being discovered by Fox to leave it.

"Jenny, what do you think? Should we try it?" Paul asked.

"I don't know, Paul. I guess it would be all right." She hesitated, lost in thought a moment. "I know what. I'll drive over there and check it out for myself, see what security they have and so forth, and then if it looks safe, we can go. How's that?"

"I don't want you taking any chances, Mom," Scott said quickly.

"Honey, if I thought it was taking a chance, I wouldn't do it," she replied. "I've been to lots of museums, and you guys haven't. There's usually little or no security at them, even at the military ones. My other Scott and I went to Cape Canaveral one time, and there was almost no security at all. I would feel completely safe taking you and your dad there, and this Air Force Museum should be no different. I'll check it out tomorrow, okay? If it looks or feels the least bit, and I mean the very tiniest bit dangerous, I'll get out of there like a shot. Okay?"

"Okay, Mom." Scott grinned at her. She was practical, brave, strong, soft, talented and fun, and he couldn't have been more delighted with her if he'd been able to choose his mother himself.  
  
---  
  
"There's a B-l bomber, and an F-15 Eagle. Wow! Look at those missiles!" Scott exclaimed as they neared the entrance of the Air Force Museum a few days later. On her reconnaissance, Jenny had felt it to be safe, with only light security, and little attention paid to the tourists at all.

"What are these for, Scott?" Paul asked curiously as he walked around the massive Minuteman missile before him.

"That's one of those guided missiles they made to use for wars, Dad. It carried a nuclear warhead," Scott explained.

"Guided missile? Is that like a bomb?" Paul asked. He never would understand war.

"Yes, I guess it is." Scott paused a minute, then thought of something about the missile that he knew would interest his dad. "The missile itself is kind of like the big rockets they used to lift the capsules out of the atmosphere when people first began to go into space. Wait till you see the space capsules they rode in! They're so primitive compared to the space shuttle." Scott stopped, realizing who he was speaking to, and how primitive the space shuttle must appear to him, then started chuckling. "I guess they really will look primitive to you!" he laughed.

Paul smiled at Scott, then gazed up curiously at the missile. There would be a lot to learn here, it appeared. He was glad Scott had been interested in coming.

"Let's go see them, then, son," he said, putting his arm around Scott's shoulders and taking Jenny's hand.  
  
---  
  
The museum was as incredible as Scott had thought it might be, with a history of flight from earliest times, all kinds of airplanes and balloons, artifacts from the various wars, so many things to see. Jenny and Scott had to wait repeatedly as Paul read every single word on each sign he passed. Luckily, he was a fast reader, or they might have needed several years to see everything. When it was time for lunch, they headed upstairs for the snack bar.

"Dad! Look at this!" Scott exclaimed, pointing to a small case near the top of the stairs. It was about seven feet tall by about two feet wide and two feet deep, and was plainly labeled "UFO".

Paul and Jenny joined Scott in spellbound examination of every photograph of supposed "UFOs" and chunks of metal which were claimed to be from UFOs. Paul's smile widened as he read the labels and examined each object and picture.

Scott watched his dad's reaction in fascination.

"Dad?" he asked quietly, looking around to see if anyone was watching or listening to them. Seeing the coast was clear, he went on as Paul turned a questioning glance his way.

"Yes?"

"Do you know anything about any of these things?"

"Yes, I do."

Scott had to swallow hard several times before he was able to speak. "You're kidding," he said when he finally got his voice under control.

"Why should you, of all people, be surprised?" Paul asked in amusement.

"I don't know, I just... What do you know about this stuff?"

"These are fragments of a meteorite, most of those are fragments of satellites, except that one, which is from a wrecked spacecraft, but not one of ours."

"You mean 'one of ours' like one of yours, or one of ours, or...is it somebody else's?" Scott said with a gulp.

"Somebody else's," Paul said matter-of-factly. He smiled at Scott, who was staring at him, an astonished look on his face. Paul went on, "Some of these photos are of visits from my people that happened years ago. We didn't contact you those times because we weren't invited. We just observed then."

"Wow," Scott said in awe. "Did you come then too?"

"I came once before, but I was usually working in another part of the galaxy when an observation of Earth was planned. When I came the last time, I came as an ambassador, to contact your people because of the invitation in the Voyager, remember? We'd been watching for a chance to visit officially for years. Since we've found out your people aren't very friendly, we'll wait for the species to mature a bit before we try again." He straightened up from the case and smiled at his son. "Close your mouth, Scott, a fly might get in!" he laughed, putting his arm around his son's shoulders. He put his other arm around the chuckling Jenny and walked his family toward the snack bar.  
  
---  
  
"Mr. Fox, I have friends who live west of Dayton, on a farm near Brookville, and I'd like to stop by and see them while we're here at Wright-Patterson," Wylie was explaining to Fox, trying to talk his boss into letting him use the rental car for the evening. "I don't get to Dayton that often, and it's been a long time since I've seen them. I won't be gone long, sir."

"All right, Wylie, use the car. I have some paper work to catch up on anyway," Fox growled. He and Wylie were visiting some officials at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base northeast of Dayton to discuss some odd findings in some recent satellite reconnaissance photos. General Wade was making Fox work on more than just his "alien" chase, giving him more diverse assignments, to Fox's obvious dismay and Wylie's secret pleasure.

Ben Wylie whistled cheerfully, removing his jacket and tie, tossing the car keys up in the air and catching them as he hurried to the car before Fox could change his mind. He hadn't seen his friends in a long time. Their kids would have grown up so much now, they probably wouldn't remember the man they had called "Uncle Ben" when they were small. He loved kids and pets, and this family's menagerie of horses, dogs and cats always delighted him.  
  
---  
  
George Fox walked from the hotel toward a nearby restaurant, hoping for a decent meal. As he walked down the sidewalk, he glanced at the cars going by. Families with kids, married couples, dating couples. You could tell the difference by how closely they sat together. As Fox waited to cross the street, a car waiting at the light caught his attention. The couple was sitting close together, with a teenager also in the front seat. Families didn't usually travel that way. Maybe this was a second wife, or still a girlfriend. He smiled grimly, wondering if he'd ever have time to even find a girlfriend. Suddenly, he looked at the car more closely. It couldn't be! Just as he reacted, Scott noticed him.

"Dad! There's Fox!" he exclaimed in horror.

Paul stared into the eyes of his tormenter in dismay, then hit the gas and took off, heedless of the traffic.

Fox stood dumbfounded at first, then took off running back to his hotel, determined to find Wylie and start chasing Paul and Scott again. When he returned to his hotel room, he realized he had no way to contact Wylie. He called the local police to enlist their aid in finding the alien. The police had no idea where to start looking for Fox's fugitives because there was no record anywhere of Paul Forrester being in the area. The house Paul's family was living in had been rented in Liz Baynes' name, and the car was in Laura Jacobs' name. Fox seethed in frustration.'  
  
---  
  
"We have to leave here now, don't we?" Jenny asked, a worried look on her face.

"I don't know. Nobody around here should know who I am, since everything is in either your name as Laura, or in Liz's name. Scott and I have stayed home enough that very few people have seen either of us. We might be able to stay here a while longer if we get rid of the car. We should probably rent a different one from somewhere far away from here, in case Fox got the license number. Then we should stay home as much as possible." Paul paused, smiling down at Jenny as he took her in his arms. "Of course, staying home with you is something I just HATE to do, and I know Scott agrees! We just love being on the run!" he teased.

Jenny chuckled sadly as she laid her head on his chest, melting against him, her arms tight around his waist. How anyone could want to destroy a being so compassionate, so loving, so gentle, she just couldn't imagine. Her love for Paul grew deeper every day. She held him tightly, wishing there was some way she could protect him and Scott. Why couldn't Fox leave them alone so they could live in peace?

Paul stroked Jenny's back comfortingly, sending a soothing, warm flow of love and tranquility into her body from his caressing hands. He understood her fear, and shared it, but he hoped they could continue their peaceful life for a while longer. He kissed the top of her head and rubbed his cheek gently against the silkiness of her hair. "If we stay alert to danger, I think we'll be safe here for a little while longer. If you want to leave, we will. I don't want you or Scott to be afraid. I love you, Jenny Hayden. I want us to be happy."

Jenny turned her face up to look into Paul's eyes. She wondered, as she had so often, how he could look so serene when they lived in fear all the time.

"I don't live in fear, Jenny, I'm just very careful," he told her reassuringly.

"I wish you wouldn't do that!" she laughed suddenly.

"Do what?"

"Answer things I haven't asked!"

"You asked it inside yourself. Why did you think it, if you didn't want it answered?"

"It's just unnerving when you read my mind like that!" she answered with an exaggeratedly aggrieved face.

"How about when I read your mind like this?" he chuckled as he leaned down and kissed her tenderly.

Jenny sent him a strong thought that reading her mind this way was perfectly fine with her.  
  
---  
  
"Well, did you have a nice evening, Wylie?" Fox asked sweetly.

"Yes," Wylie answered with a happy, relaxed look on his face. "It was wonderful. We had such a good time..."

"Oh, really?" Fox interrupted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "While you were out picking daisies on the farm, Forrester and the boy drove right by this hotel!" he said in a rage.

"What? What are they doing here?" Wylie asked, dumbfounded.

"How should I know, Wylie? They didn't stop to visit me, you know!"

"What are we going to do, sir?" Wylie asked with the droop returning to his shoulders which was his usual posture in Fox's presence.

"We're going to find them!" Fox exploded as he grabbed the keys from Wylie and headed for the door. "Get the bags, Wylie. I packed for you, too."

"Uh...thank you, sir," Wylie said in a small voice, snatching up their luggage and following his boss out the door.  
  
---  
  
The uneventful days of summer passed swiftly by for the family. When Fox hadn't found any traces of them, he left the area in frustration. Fall was rapidly approaching, and soon they would have to do something about registering Scott for school, unless they moved. Paul was going to have to get some work soon too. Jenny's savings were still holding up well, but he didn't have as much set aside as she did, and it was important to him to help provide for his family.  
  
---  
  
"Paul, do you have any cash on you?" Jenny asked. "I have to go to the grocery store."

"No, honey, I don't."

"That's okay. I'll just hit the Green Machine before I go shopping." She leaned over Paul as he squatted weeding a flowerbed, and kissed the top of his head. "Ick! You're too sweaty to kiss!" she laughed. He stood and grabbed her, rubbing his damp cheek against her face, and giving her a big kiss.

"Too sweaty, huh? I thought you loved me no matter what!" he teased.

"I do! I do! Paul, you're going to get me filthy!" she laughed as she dodged away from him.

"Love me, love my dirt," he said reasonably, smiling at her through his dirt and sweat-streaked face.

"Okay, I love your dirt too, but can I love it after I get back from the store?" she replied with a grin, her hands on her hips. He looked like a naughty little boy who had been making mud pies all day. His impish humor and the "little-boy innocent" look he was giving her were so endearing. She kissed him soundly, but at arm's length, then waved gaily as she got in the car and left. From where he was mowing the lawn, Scott watched this scene between his parents with a grin on his face. He loved watching them play together. He hoped life could continue like this forever.

Jenny had dyed her hair a light golden brown, and was wearing hazel contacts now. She was afraid to get too far from her natural hair color for fear it would look artificial enough to make someone look twice at her, and possibly recognize her. She put her card with the name "Melinda Knight" in the Green Machine and got the money she needed for the store. As she turned away from the machine, she saw George Fox leaving the police station across the street. Startled, she hurried to her car. Her sudden movement caught Fox's eye, and something about the way she moved clicked in his mind, even though her coloring was wrong.

"Wylie! Follow that woman!" he cried as he got into the car.

"Yes, sir," Wylie responded, making the car leap away from the curb in pursuit of Jenny's car. "Who are we chasing, Mr. Fox?"

"That has to be Jenny Hayden, Wylie. It just has to be. This isn't that far from where I spotted Forrester and the boy the last time. She must have been hiding them out! She's dyed her hair, but I know it's her!"

Jenny was experienced at eluding Fox and the government by now, and made good her escape, but she knew she didn't very far ahead of her pursuers. She took a chance and stopped to call Paul, but the phone rang and rang, unanswered. She finally called Liz.

"Liz? It's Jenny. I can't talk long. Fox is on my tail, and I can't get hold of Paul. I don't know where I'm headed, but I'll lead Fox as far as I can from Dayton. There wasn't any warning, he just spotted me on the street. Get Paul and Scott out of there, okay?"

"Jenny, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, but they aren't far behind me, Liz. Please, take care of Paul and Scott for me. Tell them I love them, and I'm sorry this has happened. When things look safe again, I'll contact you and you can get us together again. You'll do that for us, won't you, Liz?"

"You know I will, Jenny. Be careful. Call me if you need anything."

"I will. Tell Paul..." Jenny was beginning to cry. "Tell Paul...tell him I love him no matter how dirty he is. Tell Scott that I love him, and I'm so proud of him. I wouldn't trade this summer for anything. I've got to go."

"Take care. I'll tell them what you said."

"Thanks, Liz. I can't thank you enough for everything you've done for us."

"Just go on, and be safe. Keep in touch."

"Bye."

Liz looked out her window and wondered how to break the news to Paul. She knew she didn't have the luxury of time, so she picked up the phone to get it over with quickly.  
  
---  
  
"I hate fall, don't you, Dad?" Scott said as they trudged along a dusty mountain road in Arkansas, several weeks after Fox had spotted Jenny.

"Oh, I don't know. The trees are pretty, and I like the sound of the leaves crunching under our feet," Paul said with a smile. "Why don't you like fall, Scott?"

"It makes me think of dying."

Paul waited quietly for Scott to continue. Scott walked with his head down, looking forlorn.

"What's the matter, son?"

"Do you think we'll ever see Mom again?"

"Yes, I do."

"When?"

"This summer was an unexpected surprise, wasn't it, Scott?"

"Yes

"Let's not 'expect' things to happen at a certain time. It's more fun and easier on your nerves just to let yourself be surprised about some things, instead of worrying about them, don't you think?"

"I guess."

"When things are right, we'll be together again. I'm sure of that. At least now we have a way to contact your mother. We don't have to worry about how she's doing, if she's safe, where she is. That's a big relief to me."

"Yeah, me too."

"You know what your mother told me, Scott?"

"What?"

"She said that finding us all began with the 'pas de deux' in that ballet I photographed. She said now we are a 'pas de trois' ourselves."

"What's that?"

"A dance for three. She said we belonged together, that we were in harmony together like dancers who are trained to move together. She was surprised we became a 'family unit' so quickly. She said lots of families go their whole lives and never become 'one' like we did. She's proud of us, and she loves us. She said even when we are apart, we're still a family because we love each other." He put his arm around Scott as they walked down the road.

Scott stopped and looked up at his dad.

"I guess we really are lucky, then, aren't we, Dad?"

"Yes."

"I love you, Dad," Scott said, hugging his father tightly.

"I love you, too, Scott," Paul replied, returning his son's warm embrace.  
  
---  
  
In a city far from Arkansas, Natalie Lindgreen was working on a painting. She smiled as she stood back from her work, taking in the overall effect. It was a painting of a man, a woman and a teenaged boy. The man had long dark hair falling over his forehead, curling over his collar, and combed back above his ears. He had beautiful blue eyes, full of wisdom and serenity, and a warm, loving expression on his face. The boy's wavy dark hair curled around his head in a dark halo. He had a look of mischief in his brown eyes, an impish grin, and seemed to be full of energy. He looked ready to go chase a football or a pretty girl any second. The woman looked radiant, like someone who was not only in love, but who knew she was loved, with a contented, happy feeling coming from her eyes. The three people were intertwined in a loving family grouping, and the picture was complete. The artist sighed with a pleased sense of accomplishment.

"Finally, Paul, I can do your eyes right, and Scott's face. I can even paint myself looking happy. Someday we'll have more time like this summer. I hope it's soon." She put away her paints and sat gazing at her completed family portrait, satisfied with her work at last.

THE END


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